


covet

by fictitiousregrets



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M, grave wounds, these two i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictitiousregrets/pseuds/fictitiousregrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The closest safe place he could think of was Marasi's flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	covet

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so you know how Wayne was all "chill out marasi gurl i don't like u like that" in canon? And his reason was "because I need someone who can beat me up you know, kind of like a player do"? 
> 
> So maybe he didn't say it exactly like that. The point still stands.
> 
> Well, this fic takes place somewhere like a year or two after the events of AoL, and there's a whole elaborate headcanon here that basically entails something like Wayne and Marasi working together with Wax for a while and they kind of end up finding little amazing things about each other.
> 
> Quick thing: this fic contains mentions of blood, medicine (needles and things), and a passing mention of violence. But then again, I'm pretty sure the actual novel contained some of that and some more fun stuff. Even so, just putting it there to warn you guys.
> 
> Hope you like it!

It was very unlike Wayne to be so quiet. He had been sitting in her flat for ten minutes, covered in blood, just staring at the small table in Marasi’s tiny parlor. It was a small place, but it was her own and she was proud of it.  
  
    Marasi had no idea what the man could possibly be thinking of, nor why he suddenly showed up on her doorstep in the dead of night. She had answered the door in a robe, wielding a poker from the fireplace—which, admittedly, was there for appearances only—and asked warily, “Who is it?”  
  
    “Wayne,” came the tired, familiar voice from behind the door. He sounded exhausted, and so instead of turning him away as she would have been inclined to on any other occasion, Marasi opened the door. The first thing she saw was the blood, and despite knowing of his abilities, her heart nearly stopped.  
  
    “You’re bleeding,” she said numbly.  
  
    “Thanks for letting me know,” Wayne replied, but there was no heart in his words. She couldn’t stop staring at the red staining his clothes, so Wayne stumbled into the room as she stepped aside, closing the door behind him. He hobbled over to the couch, and Marasi didn’t even care about his potentially ruining her couch.  
  
    She couldn’t ask him to take his shirt off, so she just mumbled, “What happened?” He seemed to sink into the couch cushions and blend in, and Marasi wrung her hands absently, thinking of something her professor had said once about victims’ families and trauma.  
  
    “The same bloody stuff that always does,” said Wayne, exhaustion lacing his very breath. It hit Marasi at that moment, and she recovered from the shock all at once.  
  
    “Your metalminds!” She rushed over and sat next to him on the couch. “You ran out of health—how could you run out of health, Wayne?” Marasi sounded at once as if she were chastising him and as if she couldn’t believe that it could happen. Especially to him. Especially knowing him. Then she noticed his breathing getting shallow.  
  
    He put a finger to his lips—Marasi still didn’t know what happened, but if Wayne was disinclined to tell her, then it was probably for the best that she didn’t know. He had stopped underestimating her at some point, so she trusted his judgment.  
  
    “I’ll get the first aid kit,” she whispered. For a moment, she seemed as if she would reach out and touch him, but the moment passed and she left, the couch creaking slightly as her weight lifted off of it.  
  
    Wayne felt it. He was dying. All of Marasi’s first aid kits wouldn’t be able to help him—he was dying and her home had been the closest place to where he had been betrayed.  
  
    He had lost his tail shortly after getting shot multiple times, and so when he crawled to Marasi’s place with his heart withering away within him, he hadn’t thought about the fact that he was going to die right before her eyes.  
  
    It probably wasn’t a bad death, all things considered. He would at least get to see a pretty face one last time before he left—and it didn’t hurt that she seemed genuinely concerned about him. She would probably cry. The thought of Marasi crying… well, it disturbed him deeply.  
  
    Wasn’t much he could do about it now. She came back with a case and a determined look on her face. “Take your shirt off,” she commanded. It seemed that she was steeling herself, and summoning up all her courage. He thought, briefly, about cracking a joke. Then he thought better of it, realizing that the woman who was about to take care of him would probably not appreciate it.  
  
    So he stripped. Normally, it wouldn’t have been much work, but he was so sluggish. So dizzy. Marasi’s mask of confidence cracked a tiny bit, and he could see alarm peek through. He saw her bite her bottom lip a little. Before he knew it, she had gritted her teeth and taken a pair of scissors, cutting through his shirt.  
  
    “Oi,” Wayne said weakly. “That was my favorite shirt.”  
  
    “Yeah?” Marasi muttered. “Should’ve thought about that before you got shot.” She looked paler than usual, but her fingers were steady as she removed the bullets from his wounds and stitched up each wound. Really, he was surprised she could be so calm about this. Then again, she was university-trained. Harmony knew what they were teaching there.  
  
    Marasi labored over his wounds for a very long time. There were just so many, but she wouldn’t give up—she couldn’t give up. Wax would never forgive her. As she worked, Wayne really didn’t have much to look at but her face. It was either that or close his eyes, and if he closed his eyes, he would die. He didn’t think she’d appreciate that much. So he watched her. Saw her brow furrow when a stitch would tangle—saw her eyes widen, and then her face slacken in relief as she detangled the stitch.  
  
    He bore the pain as well as he could, considering the circumstances. But around two hours later, when Marasi had stitched him all up, he was pale and looked horrible. Marasi stood up, feeling angry and helpless. “I,” she announced, “am calling a proper medic, because you are dying and I won’t let you die, not in my house, not on my couch.” The face she had on was admirable—very stoic. The face of a leader.  
  
    Of course, it all fell away in the next moment when Wayne smiled weakly at her, and then she looked heartbroken. “Don’t,” she said, voice breaking, “don’t you dare die. I’m going to send  for a medic. You stay alive, right there.”  
  
    “Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wayne prodded experimentally at his stitched-up wounds. She’d done a pretty good job. Of course, what Wayne hadn’t told her was that he actually wasn’t as bad as he seemed—he was reserving his strength for a miraculous recovery.  
  
    A medic wouldn’t hurt, though.  
  
    Marasi came back into the room to see Wayne poking at his stitches, and she looked away. “ _Harmony_ , Wayne!” she hissed, and then pressed her lips together, closing her eyes and composing herself. “Leave your stitches alone, please.”  
  
    “Since you said please…” Wayne put his hands up in defeat, laying back on the couch. He wanted so much just to close his eyes and fall asleep. It was so tempting. But then she looked at him, and she looked so helpless, just standing there, rubbing the tip of her left pinky finger with the thumb and forefinger of her right.  
  
    They were silent for a good few minutes as Wayne’s breathing got more labored.  
  
    “Marasi?”  
  
    She started, pressing her lips together and hugging herself. “Yes, Wayne?”  
  
    “I’d get up if I could,” he said tiredly, “but since I’m like this, can you come over here?”  
  
    She looked terrified. “Oh, Harmony, don’t tell me you’re going to whisper your last words in my ear.”  
  
    Wayne had enough strength in him to smirk a little, and she inched back a small step or two, causing him to smile instead. “Nothing like that, mate.”  
  
    Warily, she went over to him and when he patted the seat next to him slowly, she sat, trying very hard not to stare at his bare chest. She knew that her face was bright red, but a dying man—no, not just a man, it was Wayne, of all people—was sitting on her couch, just barely held together by stitches she had put in him and she didn’t know what to do.  
  
    But in that moment, Wayne lifted his hand, looking like it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and kissed her gently.  
  
    Terror bloomed in Marasi’s core and she took his hand, squeezing it. “You’re not—you aren’t, don’t do this to me,” she whispered, pulling back with a jerk.  
  
    The corners of his mouth tilted up just slightly. “Had to have just one kiss from you before—“  
  
    “You finish that sentence,” Marasi started, and then tears started to fill her eyes, and she couldn’t finish her own sentence.  
  
    “Alright, alright,” Wayne muttered, “I won’t finish the bloody sentence then. Just don’t cry. Harmony.”  
  
    Marasi shook her head and whispered, “I’m—I’m going to see if the medic’s here.” She tied her robe more tightly around her and hurried off, leaving Wayne laying weakly against the couch.

❀ ❀ ❀

  
It took the medic only five minutes longer to reach the place, during which time Marasi got dressed, and then went with Wayne to the treatment center. She waited for a while as the medics worked on him, and called Wax up to tell him what had happened.  
  
    “How is he?” Wax asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he came into the treatment center and saw Marasi there, dark circles beneath her eyes and redness surrounding them and her nose.  
  
    “The medics said he would be fine,” she said, sounding tired and so sad. “Something about,” a note of anger entered her voice suddenly, “ _rapid healing_. Harmony. I was worried sick, he was bleeding on my upholstery.”  
  
    Wax sat next to her and put a comforting arm around her. She leaned into the half-hug, sighing. The whole story came spilling out of her, and when it was over, a nurse came out and asked if they wanted to see him. They didn’t even answer, just got up and followed her.  
  
    “You absolute horror,” Marasi said as she walked into the room. Her face must have been a sight, because Wayne blanched.  
  
    “I’m fine, mate, I promise—”  
  
    “No, how could you? You were storing some of your health, you lied to me.” She sounded upset, and Wax decided it would probably be safer to stand by the door. This was Wayne’s mess.  
  
    Wayne was looking at her, however, like he’d never seen anything as beautiful as her angry face. He lifted a hand to take hers and then pulled slightly, tugging her in for a kiss.  
  
    After about a minute of this, Wax cleared his throat and Marasi jumped back, blushing deeply and paying suspiciously close attention to her skirts.  
  
    When she had gone, Wax folded his arms over his chest and grinned. “What was that you were telling me about not ‘fancying’ her, then?”  
  
    “Bugger off,” Wayne said lightly, but he looked positively pleased with himself.


End file.
